


Donna Moss: Life Ambition Series

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-03
Updated: 2008-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: What might have happened if Josh and Donna had stayed until the end of the second term.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

These characters are not mine. ETC…..  
This is set in an AU reality from just before Impact Winter. Donna never leaves and neither does Josh.

 

Chapter One

They all struggled in the last three months of the second term. Tensions were building ominously in the bazaars of Kazakhstan, the Israeli-Palestinian peace plan creaked with anxiety and on the domestic front, the final pieces of the Bartlet legacy were being hurriedly cemented together before forsaking all their hard work to the Republicans who would replace them.

They all received job offers. Stupendous, mind blowing job offers which promised seven figure salaries and corporate perks: They joked and tried to hide the natural sadness which always came at the end of something magical. Because it had been magical, despite the sacrifices of time, friends and occasionally, even ideals. They would always miss their years at the White House; miss it but over time less poignantly as an easier lifestyle allowed them to enjoy and then prioritise the important trivialities that they had all forgotten about. They wouldn’t miss the early mornings, the late nights, the unending grind of meetings, memos and the constant pressure exerted by the polls and the American free press. However, that feeling, the feeling of power, the world at their fingertips to be tweaked and occasionally slung headlong into new orbits: that was a drug which would never fully leave their systems.

Josh Lyman had whittled his options down to three. He’d been loud and scathingly sarcastic in the bullpen and with Donna as the fifty seven, fifty eight if you counted the one that was a prank, offers arrived through the mail. But there were two that he had received in person and privately and one letter that he hadn’t joked about. These he mulled through silently and alone.

Eventually he sought for Leo’s view and finally, only one month before moving day he finally asked Donna for her opinion. She entered his office and he nodded at the door. Closing it, she sat down and looked at him expectantly. 

“You’ve decided? It must be a toss up between the pharmaceuticals and the oil industry.”

Josh didn’t even bother to ask how she knew these things anymore, but he did give in to a flicker of a smile at her teasing.

“There are two… head of political science at Princeton and Chief of Staff for the Majority leader”

“You’d work for Fields?”

“I want to know what you think.”

“I think you need a break. Then I think you have two years to find the next President of the United States.”

Josh Lyman tucked in his chin and stared at her in amusement.

“That’s just what Leo said.” The remark was soft and the conversation fell silent for a while.

“Which would you prefer?”

His assistant drew in a determined breath, looked him in the eye for a second then:

“What does it matter what I prefer?”

“Because” he was expansive and joking now, unaware of the seriousness of his predicament: “We’re a team. You’re my wingman.”

She bit her lip and her boss stared in momentary fascination as the tooth grazed against the glossy surface.

“Josh. I’m not working for you after we leave the White House.”

This time the silence was one of chest tightening anxiety and shock. Donna looked down and smiled with embarrassed distress. 

“Why?”

“I don’t think you can be shocked that I don’t want to be an assistant forever. I believe I can play a more valuable role elsewhere.” She began, her speech anxiously rehearsed, unaware of the nine year resonance her words had for him. “I tried to talk to you about this after my accident in Gaza but you blew me off. So I tabled it.”

He was silent, remembering the relief he felt when Donna had finally quietened down about “progressing” in her career. He gave her more responsibilities of course and had genuinely thought she was satisfied. That was what Daniel was for. Daniel was supposed to take the grunt work off Donna’s plate so that she could assist Josh more fully with his portfolio. There had been a little backbiting and bitchiness from Josh’s deputies, but Donna’s competence and the respect she commandeered throughout the White House and beyond meant that objections to her more visible presence were minimal. She was still Senior Assistant to Josh Lyman though, even more essential now her legislative experience had increased; she had to come with him, just had to.

“Who would you rather work for?” The question came out jealous and hurt. As usual his anger could not settle directly on Donna, instead he directed it at whoever had poached her. “What easy living, corporate salary have they offered you?”

“Myself, scholarship.”

“A degree! You don’t need a degree!”

“I know”

“You showed me at least two offers that came through. They didn’t ask for a degree.”

“I got fifteen job offers that didn’t ask for a degree”

“Donna! You said you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not”

“Then why?”

“Because Josh. Because I want one; Donna Moss: life ambition… get a degree.”

He was silenced.

“Will you be in Washington?”

“No”

“So you’re leaving”

“Yes” she sounded sad yet firm.

“Oh!” The exclamation came out as a gasp and Josh Lyman wished he could take it back. He struggled to grasp the concept; it slipped and wriggled through his comprehension like a fish. Donna was leaving him. He would lose the White House and lose Donna. He stared at her across the table like a stranger, missing her already.

“You should have told me before!” Anger came easily and covered the puncture.

“I told you when you told me” She pointed out, all reason and logic and compelling eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on abandoning you!” His voice became strident even as hers became soft and oddly intimate.

“I’m not abandoning you Josh: I’m going to get a degree.”

“I assumed…”

“Yes, you assumed. Your life, your job… I just tag along.”

“I didn’t, I” He stopped aware that she was right and disliking her and himself. 

“Let’s just drop it for now.”

“Fine”

“Fine”

She was striding away, temptation and rejection in a sharp charcoal suit. His head sank to his inbox and remained occupied there for the rest of the day. Donnatella Moss no doubt did the same at her little desk outside his door. Neither spoke as they left the White House that day.

 

As things turned out, Donna Moss left Josh Lyman a lot sooner than either had anticipated. Her desk was empty the next morning. Empty at 6:45, at 7:00, at 7:15: she wasn’t there when he went into senior staff and not there when he emerged an anxious twenty minutes later. There was however, a message: “Donna to Wisconsin. Mother in accident. Will call soon”.

He’d been trying and getting the answer phone for nearly three quarters of an hour before Donna finally answered.

“Hey”

“Hey”

“How are you?”

“I’m alright. It’s not too serious; she took a tumble down the stairs. She has a broken hip, but it’s a clean break. I’m going to have to take a short leave of absence though…”

“Sure, whatever you need.” His voice travelled down the dark tunnel of the telephone soft with concern and she was reminded once again why she found him so compelling. “Uhh, I have to go the…”

“I understand. Go… Go!” There was a laugh in her voice as she dismissed him and his spirits lifted just a little to hear it.

“Talk later”

“Bye”

Their lives were often like this: truncated conversations, interruptions and intrusions; the personal swept underneath the carpet by the trade winds of D.C politics that blew constantly through Josh’s office.

“Not too serious” turned out to be an overly optimistic diagnosis on Donna’s part. Josh learnt through tense emails, texts and phone calls how the stay in hospital had made Mrs Moss sick. How there was now pneumonia on her lungs. How, though it was breaking Donna’s heart, she wouldn’t be able to be there for their last days in office… her family needed her. She received messages of support from all echelons of the White House hierarchy of power and responsibility. Josh wasn’t the only one to feel a little lost and lonely without Donna’s ubiquitous and comforting presence during the swansong of the Bartlett years. Her absence was a sign that the familiar, the lovable and the secure was shortly to disappear. Josh wasn’t the only one, but whilst the others felt it as a dull cloud of anxiety; his unease over Donna was like sheet lightening on the horizon.

They talked about Donna’s mother, the President’s health, Leo’s, Toby’s, CJ’s, Charlie’s, everybody’s plans in fact, excepting their own. Josh wondered dully if the shards of pain he felt were actually the pieces of his stupid heart. His bedside vigil in Gaza and the jealous tantrums he had thrown afterwards had blown any pretence of indifference out of the water. Part of him, a big part had been relieved she hadn’t reciprocated and he could continue to enjoy the “everything but” fantasy relationship that was loving and working with Donna. Part of him, a big part, also thought that something, something terrifyingly wonderful might, maybe, possibly, happen once the term ended and the strict chaperone of work and professionalism finally disappeared. But Donna was leaving him and D.C, and for years he’d been indulging in a pipe dream. Fool!

If only he could grab the man he had been. The man with the optimism and the grumpy candidate and the checked shirt; drag him from the room before he could pull that campaign badge from his neck and talk some sense into him.

“You’ve spoken to her for three minutes and she’s already charmed you and amused you and impressed you. Imagine that continuing for another nine and a half years and you’ll be so far gone that you’ll barely remember that you had nearly four decades of existence without her. Also, she’s pretty now; add a sprinkling of maturity, some better clothes and a little makeup on that perfect china complexion and you have a woman so stunningly beautiful that heads turn when she walks. Get a grip man… send her home!”

Donna worried about her mother and father and wondered everyday if saying goodbye to her old life wouldn’t be easier this way. In some ways she felt a strange kinship with her younger self: the disillusioned, forlorn drop out who had returned home from the heartbreak of campus life to recuperate for a month or two. The girl who was yet to see Governor Bartlett speak on T.V; who hadn’t yet signed up for the rollercoaster of presidential campaigns, Inaugural Balls and bombs, pardons and filibusters, Sam and CJ and Senators; memo’s and meetings, seven-thirty senior staff, Mrs Laningham, Molly Morello and the assassination and through it all… Josh. The guy. The one who made it all matter. 

She had made herself a promise though. A promise that would take away her last great insecurity: that would repair the closely camouflaged gash in her self esteem. It was a promise she had made to herself, late at night after talking with Charlie: a promise to return to University after the White House. She had hoped for Josh’s support but not counted on it. Nine and a half years was a long time for something not to happen. Get Real Girl!

All the feminsta pep talks in the world didn’t make it easy though. Josh, her brilliant, charismatic, fascinating, infuriating boss and friend and… was slowly edging out of her life. Perhaps life would be easier; she might be happier not spending hours a day around someone so beloved and unattainable. Josh didn’t ask about her degree and she didn’t question him in return.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Two weeks after President Vinick’s people had moved in and started rearranging the political furniture; Donna’s mother turned a corner and started to recover with surprising rapidity. Her energy levels increased in inverse proportion to the amount of contact between Joshua Lyman and his old assistant. Now Eileen Moss was better, there seemed no ostentatious reason to continue talking, they couldn’t discuss work and with their futures a taboo subject they were stymied. It seemed easier to protect themselves by pulling their knees up to their chests as they lay in bed at night and not calling, cutting down the dosage by heart-rending increments.

Eventually it was Josh who said.

“I can’t call for a while. I’m…”

“It’s ok”

“See you around…”

“Yeah”

“Bye”

Donna cried that night. Josh didn’t but it would be impossible to say who hurt most before falling asleep. 

Donna had wanted to tell Josh she had been offered a scholarship from Harvard. She had wanted to tell him that she was majoring in politics; that he had inspired her: that she thought she would do well. Josh wanted to tell Donna that he had wanted the terrifyingly wonderful to happen. That he was going to take her advice and enjoy a break. That his future seemed unclear and that scared him. He wanted to ask her why she couldn’t do a degree in D.C. or wherever he was.

CJ got caught in the middle for a while but with her usual grasp of nuance and relationships extricated herself quickly and ceased to mention one to the other. Donna began her degree several months later and hit the ground running; discovering that Josh was both right and wrong about her needing this educational background. She saw him regularly, not in the flesh of course, but on political punditry programs that she was encouraged to watch with her fellow undergrads. It was odd… bittersweet viewing but she tried, really tried to think of him as just another niche celebrity in the politics world, just another regular panellist on crossfire or capitol beat. Someone they studied and critiqued and watched whilst eating biscuits on the couch. It worked, sort of, she felt him grow more distant, more two-dimensional in her mind as she entered her second semester. 

It was late spring and the ducklings were starting to grow feathers rather than fluff when news of Josh Lyman’s visit to Harvard was announced to the students of the Politics department. An excited buzz, mostly from the female contingent, filled the lecture hall. He was booked to give two lectures in the first week of May and take questions afterwards. It wasn’t compulsory but they were clearly expected to go. Donna Moss was torn. She sat and chucked pieces of a stale loaf into the pond, idly watching the vicious scrapping for crumbs and thinking. She was a very hard working student this time around: didn’t cut corners, researched thoroughly and wrung every last drop of knowledge from the scholarship she had wrangled. Not going… that would be missing out on what was certain to be a topic of conversation in their seminars and tutorial classes. However, this was Josh and while certainly interesting; there was a reasonable chance that at some point in the last decade she had already heard what he would say next month. 

Did he know she was studying here? He must do, was he coming to see her? Did he want to catch up, be friends? Was he seeing someone? Was he happy? Had he found a candidate? It was, to use a cliché that she thought the bird life in front of her would appreciate: a can of worms. She was letting herself remember 3D Josh, live and in colour and really to pretend that she didn’t miss him dreadfully was ridiculous. So when her seminar group decided to meet up in the bar before the first lecture she smiled and agreed.

As it happened Josh did not know that Donna was now attending his old alma mater rather than Wisconsin State. He could have told her that his old room was not two hundred metres from hers. She could have mocked him for wanting to come back because his ego couldn’t resist strutting ‘the big success story’ round his old turf, and been absolutely on the money. He wouldn’t have denied it; just flashed his dimples and smiled at her teasing. Donna would have been extremely interested to learn that Josh had been fielding at least one offer per week of more permanent employment since the Republicans had come to power. One of these latter propositions had been a phone call from the Poli-Sci department at Harvard. He explained to an old professor that he still hoped to hit the campaign trail if he found the ‘real thing’. They offered him a largely honorary position that was his until he needed to go. 

“It looks good on the prospectus”

“You’re Harvard… you don’t need to look…”

“We need to look better than Yale.”

“Its just the odd lecture… maybe take a seminar class or two.”

Hearing his reluctant interest over the telephone they invited him to give two lectures and have a look around for a week. 

“No Pressure” they said. No pressure and a fat fee, and Josh pulled out a pencil and started to scribble down some ideas.

 

One of Donna’s undergraduate friends was late. She never found out why but the four of them joined the queue to get into the venue after it had already swelled out the front doors. The department had booked him a slot in one of the buildings used for graduation ceremonies, which seated nearly six hundred people. Over half was filled with Politics students, the rest a mixture of the faculty staff and the politically motivated. Joshua Lyman had achieved certain notoriety after Rosslyn which his frequent sarcastic appearances on the T.V. had cultivated. Donna was too tense to notice but if she had, then it might have occurred to her that over 60% of the audience were female. Given that the gender split across her department was 69% male, 31% female this attendance percentage was what Toby might have described quietly as ‘significant’.

It was loud in the hall as she took her seat at the back and the din didn’t quiet until the faculty head came out to introduce ‘Mr Lyman’. Donna stared at the spotlight bathed figure on the stage, wondering how he could have such a magnetic pull on her. She realised several things within a minute of him starting: his hair had grown longer again, he had a new suit, he was recovering from a head cold and unfortunately, she was still totally smitten.

Thankfully, by the time he let them leave for a cigarette or a toilet break or a drink at the bar, so were the majority of the audience, so at least his former assistant had company. No-one in Donna’s loosely organised study group minded that she was quiet when they all met up at the nearest campus bar. On average they numbered twelve, often sitting together in the library or seminars or relaxing in the increasingly warm evenings. They assumed, if they considered it at all, that Donna was just tired. Of course they knew she had worked at the White House and was a backseat veteran of two campaigns, but for the most part Donna was very discreet, so they sat and chatted on subjects frivolous and thought-provoking, unaware of her close connections to the movers and shakers in the Bartlett administration. 

She sat with her new drink of choice, a campus speciality, and thought not about the Josh who had sat on stage, describing with animation the phenomena that was the ‘first hundred days’ of a presidential term, but the Josh from her memory. She was smiling on the inside thinking about the time his ceiling had fallen in and the look… that confused look like a puppy who’s skidded into a door. There was the time they had both been stir-crazy at one am on a snowy morning and while walking to Josh’s car had ended up in a snowball fight. She had tried to pretend to be professional for the CCTV cameras but Josh had fully embraced the concept of artic warfare and they had finished with snow down their backs declaring a truce. She missed the way he used to turn to her after meetings to vent or gloat, happy to have her listening, have her attention and support. She could just chatter at him sometimes about anything and everything and over the years he had perfected the art of listening with half his attention. Once he had passed her desk while she was buried in a report and reaching over the stacks of paper, poked her on the tip of her nose. She looked up. 

“Hi”, he was looking cheeky.

“Hi?” He smiled a bit more.

“You just poked me in the face!”

“Hmmm”, he nodded, turned and left. After he disappeared she chuckled to herself and then carried on, feeling unaccountably lighter.

There were sexier memories: gazes held too long, the odd unintentional compliment: instances that had made her breath catch, and chest tighten and skin flush but tonight those were not uppermost in the Ex Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff’s thoughts. She remembered how he had teased her for weeks about her Christmas Present: gift voucher, socks, hair bobbles, soap and when she had finally unwrapped the present it was a beautiful crystal snow globe with a miniature copy of White House inside. She’d seen tacky ones but this was really detailed, right down to the bush that grew outside Josh’s window. On the bottom he’d used a nail or something to inscribe the words: 

“Happy Christmas Donn

\- a” 

“Is my name usually spelt with a hyphen?” she had asked innocently after he shyly but proudly pointed out his handiwork.

“I ran out of space!”

“It gorgeous!” He got a hug for it. She knew he’d been expecting one but Josh still got nervous as the moment loomed, awkwardly holding her like brittle china before giving in and allowing himself to enjoy the rare luxury of having Donna in his arms.

If she’d known, he’d watched her sneakily several times that day while she played with it watching the snow settle over the little scene. Afterwards it had gone home with her and he assumed she had it stored somewhere. It sat by her bed though, on the table and though she didn’t often touch it, Donna was glad to know it was there.

Donna didn’t know that despite his best intentions to ‘get over her’ Josh hadn’t been able to stop himself using her 2005 Christmas/ Hanukkah gift. She’d bought a cheap white mug and got it printed round the sides with the words: 

“You could be the world’s best boss if you gave me…”

And at the bottom: “…a RAISE!”

She had brought him decaff coffee in it and he’d choked a little on the last sup as he read the base. 

“Love it!” Josh had declared and he’d never used another mug in the office since then. Now it sat in his kitchen at home, still his favourite mug, given him by his favourite assistant and he’d be dammed if he should stop using it.


	3. Donna Moss: Life Ambition Series

“Ready to get back out there?” Professor Humphries asked Josh in the rather more select gathering of campus teaching staff that had collared him during the interlude.

 

“Yeah. I thought I’d chat for another twenty minutes or so and then just open up the floor for questions.”

 

“Do you still want to come for a drink after?”

 

“Sure”

 

From the buzz, Josh could tell that the building was filling up once more and another five minutes saw him making his way onto the stage. He sat; he always preferred to sit, leaning forwards with his forearms on his knees, charismatic and informal, eager to engage with the students. He continued by analysing the first hundred days of the Vinick administration, laying out clearly how and why they had spent their political capital. Whilst throwing in a few humorous digs about the Republicans as expected, he stayed fair critiquing and giving praise where it was warranted. He kept their attention, no easy task in a politics lecture: painting a picture of the political landscape that everyone could understand. His passion transmitted itself to his audience and without once becoming turgid or ponderous in his explanations he managed to convince everyone that Josh Lyman ‘knew his shit!’

 

“He’s a very talented public speaker” whispered Fran from Donna’s left as they watched the figure on the stage

 

“He knows it” whispered back Donna and the brunette laughed.

 

“Okay I’m done. Questions?”

 

There was a moment’s pause before several hands went up and the portion of the evening that most people had turned up for was underway.

 

“Should Vinick extricate us from Kazakhstan?”

 

“In your opinion, which administration, historically speaking, had the most effective hundred days?”

 

“…the least effective?”

 

“Is it true Republicans eat their young?”

 

“How do you rate the chances…?”

 

“What do you think…?”

 

Suddenly though, everyone grew tired of politics: nine pm on a Friday night and people started to think about the evening ahead.

 

“Would you ever run for office?”

 

“I’m a politician so I don’t like to close any doors but I don’t think so. President Bartlett once told me that ‘I like to be the guy the guy counts on’ and that’s certainly true. I work best behind the scenes. My assistant called it my spider complex.”

 

At the back of the hall Donna sat up straight in her seat.

 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Someone shouted out from the side.

 

“Nah!” but even Josh could tell that suddenly the mood in the auditorium was suddenly very attentive.

 

“Are you looking?”

 

He blushed and all the women who had previously been attracted to the confidence now got to see cute, adorable puppy-like Josh.

 

“For God’s sake” muttered Donna “what an act”; not that cute Josh didn’t exist, but definitely not by accident on a stage in front of 400 women.

 

“Okay I think that’s probably the end of this evening” interrupted Professor Humphrey inadvertently spoiling Josh’s fun. “Thank you for coming and I think I speak for everyone in this hall when I say that we are all looking forward to next Friday’s talk. We hope you spend a pleasant week with us here at Harvard. Its great to have you back.” There was loud applause interspersed with whooping and a few wolf whistles as Josh left the podium and was sucked into a waiting knot of the teaching staff.

 

Donna drifted out with the others and stood with her hands jammed tightly into her jacket pockets. “Thirst Bar?” suggested Darryl, their automatic social secretary and in agreement the pack began to meander slowly towards the bridge. For a moment Donna didn’t move, then, pulling a hat out of her pocket and tugging it firmly over her ears, she followed them.

 

Thirst Bar was crammed with sports teams so they moved on after just one drink searching, by consensus decision, for somewhere they could sit down and chat. They found their Mecca in Jar Bar and piled in boisterously, commandeering a large booth and pulling up extra chairs. Donna dragged off her hat and scarf, stuffing them unceremoniously into the crease of her seat.

 

“Hey, check it out, the department’s over there wining and dining Josh Lyman” Saffy pointed out in a piercing whisper.

 

“God, I wish more of our lectures were like that. The Politics guys are better than the Law lot but sometimes I need to bang my head against the desk.”

 

“He’s taller than I thought he would be.”

 

“I so want his job. Get paid a fortune to give my opinion on telly.”

 

“You off to the toilet?” Fran asked as Donna rose to her feet, ready to tag along.

 

“No, I uh… I was going over…”

 

She gestured to the group of academics and Josh.

 

“You’re going to get an autograph or put the moves on?”

 

“No….no, no! I’m just going to say hi. Back in a sec.”

 

At that precise moment, Joshua Lyman was multitasking: enjoying the attention while his brain, still operating on rapid shutter speed, flicked through the possible repercussions that a prominent editorial, published online before his lecture, would have for the Majority Leader’s office in the morning. He’d dumped his suit jacket already and stood with rolled up sleeves and a bottle of light beer in deference to the remnants of head cold he’d been trying to shake for a few days.

 

She walked over decisively, inwardly buzzing with adrenaline. As the distance grew shorter her body almost ached with anticipation. Ten seconds and she would be talking to Josh again, surprising him probably. Donna was mistaken though, in thinking she could just walk right up and say hello. Though discretion had become a habit through years of constant siege by the press, she had not gone unnoticed through the hordes of students, the conveyor belt of future professionals that churned through the university. She was too exceptional, too knowledgeable in seminar groups and tutorials. Her work was of such a high standard that if they didn’t know her personally, the faculty members knew her by reputation. The fact that it was a busy Friday night also factored into the equation: in no bar in the world can an attractive woman walk across the room and not be noticed. Donna Moss, tall and graceful and unconsciously beautiful, naturally drew attention to her progress.

 

“Hi Donna”: she was dimly aware that someone greeted her, and it was this that Josh Lyman heard. Of course he didn’t think it was Donna, his Donna. But the name, the name had a magnetic pull for him, automatically jerking his head back over his shoulder, involuntarily scanning his environment for her. He saw her… He saw her!!! And the rest of his body followed round in shock. She stood two metres away, stunning in understated jeans and a deep blue jumper that left her shoulders bare. Her eyes were fixed expressively on his face while her hands fidgeted nervously.

 

“You’re here?”

 

“Hi”

 

“Uhhh”

 

They hovered with their body language: out of their comfort zone and awkward, unsure of etiquette and boundaries and situations left unresolved.

Donna made the first move and Josh hugged her with one arm… politely, balancing his glass of wine. This time he did not relax into her nor she to him.

“It’s good to see you?”, “How are you?” Their questions collided and jarred. That was a first: there existed usually a synchronicity, a ‘give and take’ rhythm to their speech. Donna edged in closer to his personal space as Josh drank in her expression and looks with bittersweet delight.

 

“Oh, I’m fine.”

 

The response was easy and meaningless. Josh suppressed an urge to take her elbow and guide her to an empty table: to have her all to himself once more.

 

In reality Josh was totally bewildered, wrong footed and ambushed by the unexpected encounter. Donna’s estrangement had been less terminal. She’d planned her departure from the White House several months in advance, and after leaving had watched him regularly on TV; she’d known he was visiting, had watched him on stage not three hours before and had decided on her game plan from the other side of the bar. Donna, as always, was prepared. For her erstwhile employer their bond had been bluntly hewn apart and though it was possibly his fault for straining it too much over the years, the whipcord recoil had slapped him hard. Josh had nothing but photos which he could avoid and memories which he couldn’t. The shock of seeing her, so suddenly, in the flesh had swamped him with far too many emotions that a charitable description of his mental state might be encapsulated by the word “agitated”.

 

“I enjoyed the lecture.”

 

“You were there?” asked Josh dazedly, scrabbling for a handle on the situation as Donna looked as if she’d involuntarily entered into a conversation with the village idiot.

 

“Have you seen CJ at all?”

 

“Uh… not for a while. She’s living with Danny now.”

“I know”

 

“Right”

 

“You didn’t know I was here” the tone was ambiguous: half statement, half question but Josh didn’t respond, instead gesturing to a table. Donna followed, the habit was too ingrained. In their relationship, if such a word were to be used, she had always steered from the rear: the backseat driver and now when Josh walked she still followed, but that was all; a change had occurred, and now Josh was no longer her boss. They were cautious, wary and defensive on their opposite sides of the table. They had always been cautious Donna supposed, watching the line, watching each other, a never ending dance of antithesis and contradictions: pushing each other away even as they ached to be closer. Well, she ached to be closer; Josh had always been enigmatic and her fear was always that her ‘crush’ had blinded her to a reality that everyone else saw and pitied. Obviously he cared; Josh was full of caring: The President, Leo, CJ, Sam, Toby, his parents and Joanie, anti-gun legislation, free trade and social security, rights for minorities, for majorities, the democratic party, the Niks, nice bow ties, respect, being the good guy…

 

The man was passionate right down to his toes, and of course Donna made that list, and because the man was a natural charmer and flirt she had fooled herself sometimes, had hoped that she might, in a poorly defined, understated way, have made it right to the top in a ‘boy / girl’ fashion with the teasing and the glances and the unexpected encore appearance in Germany. At other times, in her more sober moments she told herself sternly that his care was just platonic and Josh’s possessiveness simply stemmed from his gruelling work ethic.

 

Even as they sat there struggling for small talk, rendered almost inarticulate by the pressure of things left unsaid: Josh made an impulsive decision. Life since leaving the White House had been unsettled. In a move that his younger idealistic self would have admired, the position of chief of staff for the majority leader had been rejected. Two terms of service to President Bartlett had set the bar too high; Josh now demanded a leader he could believe in and Congressman Fields was not that man. Still he’d been working closely with his office and the DNC as a political consultant in addition to a regular diet of panel shows. He kept his ear to the ground, kept his eye on congressmen and senators and was slowly putting a list together of men and women whose legislative record seemed to suggest a certain level of intelligence and integrity.

 

The offer from Harvard had not been a serious consideration for him. Washington D.C. was his home, Capitol Hill his backyard but now, meeting the woman who sat opposite him had changed all that. Donnatella Moss had been an unlikely choice for the love of Josh Lyman’s life. A college drop-out with poor prospects: a naive, insecure, inexperienced coltish girl who knew next to nothing about politics and had managed achieve little more than a flaky transfer of degree majors throughout her twenties. She was blond too: Josh didn’t go for blondes: feisty, savvy, brunettes were more his style: and, more often than not, graduates of Ivy League universities who belonged to Josh’s world of professional politics.

 

Josh himself was from a privileged background, an elite New England set with plenty of money and high aspirations. They might not own a summer house in the Hamptons themselves, but they had friends who did, friends who could trace their ancestry back to before the revolution. His father, a respected litigator in a large law firm, his mother the architect; Jessica Seaborn his mother’s maid of honour and favourite Aunt to Sam Seaborn who had gone to school with Mandy Hampton. Then there was Leo McGarry: Noah’s closest friend, a decorated war hero and Secretary of Labour who was friends with the Governor of New Hampshire: whose wife Abigail often babysat for her friends Sarah and Michael Gardner. There were a myriad of loose connections of power and influence and stronger connections of friendship and loyalty in place long before Leo had gathered them together in New Hampshire to elect a good man. The associations of old America went on and on, threading quietly through social clubs, private schools, law firms, political offices, the military, doctors practices and always the ubiquitous line on the CV that said something like Yale or Harvard, Princeton or Notre Dame. Those were the women that came Josh’s way to make his head spin and his crotch ache. Maybe that’s why he didn’t realise the danger that day in New Hampshire: she just wasn’t his type.

 

Donna was from a different America: the arable heartland of the continent; for many years the stereotypical small town girl, apple pie, dungarees and a pick up truck. Then a new supermarket was built not two miles from Ian Moss’ hardware store, times grew lean and the Moss’s packed up: left the sticks in an old Winnebago and moved to Madison. Josh had once, in an uncharacteristic moment of jealous cruelty spoken of Donna’s ‘desperate desire to be coupled up’ and been, for the most part, correct. It had been in Madison, bewildered and lonely in her new surroundings that Donna developed an insecure neediness, a desire to fit in with the crowd at school. Displaced by the move, she made strenuous efforts to become accepted by the popular kids and made it… sort of. A boyfriend was an essential part of the make-up and for a long time afterwards Donna had confused being in a relationship with success.

 

In his dishevelled chaotic way, Josh Lyman was the saving of Donna, throwing her a lifeline, a job that would cultivate and then hone her potential. Though at first she had simply been running away from a relationship gone bad; clinging to a strange certainty that she wanted to work in politics. Having heard Governor Bartlett speak, she impulsively picked her entrance ticket. In a way it was school and university all over again, a new popular crowd to seek acceptance from: this time however, there were some important differences. This time the work, the company, the location were so inspirational that it demanded and received the best from her and in a world where winning often counted more than the team or the cause, her dedication, unshakeable integrity and sweet nature allowed her to shine. Slowly she lost that desire to fit in, lost it as she subconsciously realised that she already had the respect and admiration of many a person both within and without the White House. Donnatella Moss quickly acquired a reputation for competence, professionalism and resourcefulness causing more than a few republicans to rue the fact that she was in Lyman’s corner.

 

Josh had hired her simply because he liked her. There was no increase in pulse rate, no widening of pupils, no physical evidence of attraction that day in New Hampshire. Josh Lyman simply hired an assistant he liked and didn’t consider any further. Why should he? He was going out with a beautiful, fiery Yale graduate who swam smiling like an elegant barracuda through the vicious world of campaign politics; she was amazing. Donna? Donna was just very likeable, quirky, cute and amusing: like a friend’s little sister: she definitely wasn’t his type.

 

But Donna had fit, curving gradually and snugly into all the spaces in his life, invaluable, indispensable, funny and utterly lovable: Josh was screwed. All he could do, all he tried to do was direct his growing… ‘partiality’ (stronger words were definitely off the table) into acceptable channels: she was his friend, ally, assistant, protégé and as such, affection was expected and natural: certainly nothing inappropriate there. She was very good at her job and he relied on her and that was the beginning and end of the story.

 

“They offered me a job here teaching politics”, he scanned her face like a poker player, searching for her reaction, however brief it might be but all he could decipher was surprise at his news.

 

“Permanent?” she was frowning slightly

 

“No… temporary, or honorary… or they want me on the prospectus for a year or so.”

 

“You have plans?”

 

“I want to be campaigning again… yes. Just have to find someone worth campaigning for.” Josh added ruefully and saw with delight the tiny smile that flickered across Donna’s face.

 

His fingers drummed nervously against his leg as he waited for her to ask the question but Donnatella Moss simply waited expectantly: giving nothing away.

 

“I was going to accept” he lied, wondering if she would see through him.

 

The frown returned as she picked up on the past tense “was going?”

 

“Would like” he amended hurriedly, “if it’s ok with you?”

 

“Josh” she reprimanded him indulgently with one syllable.

 

“I just… I don’t want to cramp your style. I mean, you obviously wanted a little… space, or independence from me.”

 

Finally it was out there, begging to be refuted but unfortunately there was too much truth there for Donna to deny completely.

 

“Yes. I did. I did want to be professionally independent from you but that doesn’t mean… I didn’t want to be your assistant anymore and that’s not because working with you was unpleasant, or I didn’t enjoy my job. I just wanted more from my career. I want to be in the room Josh, and as more than just your sidekick and when you get offered a scholarship from Harvard, you take it.”

 

Josh stared back, trying to read between the lines, decipher what…

 

“But that doesn’t mean I want space from you as a… friend” she was smiling even as the unfamiliar word rolled out. “It would be nice having you around, really nice. I’ve missed you.” The tone was light and deliberately friendly, no desperate longings of the lovelorn to be revealed under her steady delivery.

 

“So it’s ok?”

 

“Sure”

 

“I may end up taking some of your classes.”

 

“Of course you will it’s not nearly as much fun making co-eds swoon if you don’t have an audience. Also, you’re going to love the idea of setting me essay assignments. It’ll be all novel and exciting for you and you can call Sam and tell him you made me and my class research subsurface agricultural products…”

 

“Beets Donna, in the business of politics we call them ‘beets’.” He smirked at her.

 

“You think you’re a funny man don’t you.”

 

“Yeah. It’s part of my charm.” His face turned serious and a little sad. “I never though we’d be able to joke about that time… did you?”

 

She shook her head, remembering those weeks and months in the trenches after the time bomb of Josiah Bartlett’s medical history went off.

 

“I spoke to Charlie and Zoë the other day. They said that he’s in remission again and doing really well.”

“I bumped in to him, Charlie I mean, in D.C three weeks ago.”

“He said.”

“Oh”

Josh’s eyebrows lifted enquiringly as he looked over Donna’s shoulder.

“Donna?”

“Hey” she turned round peering up at the young man and woman who stood behind her.

“Josh, this is Fran and Aaron, friends from my course. Fran, Aaron…Josh” she indicated unnecessarily to her former employer.

“Good lecture”, the youth was polite but wary. “I really enjoyed it” gushed Fran a little more enthusiastically. 

The pair, in fact the whole group had watched Donna as she walked over to the academics, watched with surprise Josh Lyman’s recognition and the friendly hug the two exchanged and then wondered aloud as the two sat down at a table for what seemed a cosy chat. Being, as they were some of Harvard’s best and brightest, they had all joined the dots in realising that Donna must have known Josh when she worked at the White House. Once they guessed, it seemed obvious. They had both worked there for eight years, even if one was an assistant and the other deputy chief of staff, they must have met. Why none of them had thought to ask her more about the years spent at the White House suddenly seemed more glaring but Donna’s attitude had screamed ‘no big deal’ and they’d been fooled. Fran, egged on by an inquisitive Saffy had determined on going over, but first bullied Aaron into the trip for moral support.

“Hi” Dimples and expressive eyes appeared as Josh switched on his charm. Impressing co-eds couldn’t come too soon thought Donna wryly.

“I worked for Josh in the West Wing” she continued, feeling her friends deserved an explanation; determined to ignore the surprised look she sensed written all over Josh’s face. 

“Didn’t everyone except Leo McGarry work for Josh? Aaron’s dry comment hung in the air delivered in his usual pedantic manner  
“Yes, sort of, but I worked as his assistant.”

“How long?” asked Fran sociably, instinctively expecting a short term answer.

Josh answered, having recovered his equilibrium but desperate to ask Donna why she hadn’t mentioned him. “About nine years”

Unfortunately for Donna, Francesca Claire Albermonte was not endowed with vast reserves of social subtlety and her loud response: “Really?” drew attention from several quarters.  
“Uh huh”Josh leaned back, enjoying her discomfiture. 

“He’s probably going to accept a teaching post here.” Donna skilfully deflected interest from her omission.

“Cool… soon?”

“Yeah. Excuse me” his cell phone went off and he answered it, sucked immediately into a detailed discussion with Congressman Fields.“Yeah, I can be there tomorrow” he said eventually, looking at Donna apologetically as she shrugged.

“Harvard… No… don’t do that… okay… sure.”

 

“That was Graeme Fields” he began, explaining to her out of a deeply ingrained habit. 

“Jamie Cargill’s piece in the Herald?” Donna interjected, automatically picking up the ball and tossing it back to him. 

“I’ve been acting as a consultant for his office.”

“Didn’t you tell him…?”

 

“Of course but he’s been listening to Geoff Peters much longer than me so…”

“This is going to mess with the Family Wellness act isn’t it.”

“We’ll still get it but Vinick’s people will be able to negotiate a much lower cap on the payout limits now.”

“So you’re back to D.C. to do damage control?”

Josh shrugged. “You are coming to the lecture next Friday?”

“Yeah”

“Okay then” 

He gathered his suit jacket and left the table. A few brief excuses to his future colleagues and he was away out of the bar and into the cool night time air. A short taxi ride via his hotel room and Josh was proceeding through Gate 14 to get the red eye back to D.C. He didn’t sleep on the plane, instead playing the events of the evening in a continuous loop behind closed eyelids.


End file.
